


The Rules of the Internet

by kopperblaze



Category: My Chemical Romance
Genre: Community: no_tags, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-02-14
Updated: 2012-02-14
Packaged: 2017-10-31 04:47:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,824
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/340060
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kopperblaze/pseuds/kopperblaze
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>written for the no_tags prompt: Frank/Mikeyway - meeting and falling in love online</p>
<p>One email accidentally sent to the wrong address turns Frank's life upside-down.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Rules of the Internet

_From: ierofr@rutgers.edu  
To: waymik@rutgers.edu_

_Here’re the notes, hope you’re feeling better. See you next week._

_-Frank_

_Attachments:  
romanticism.doc_

_From: waymik@rutgers.edu  
To: ierofr@rutgers.edu_

_think you got the wrong email_

_mikey_

_From: ierofr@rutgers.edu  
To: waymik@rutgers.edu_

_Fuck, sorry. Was running late for a gig, messed the addy up. Shoulda gone to Mike Way._

_-Frank_

Frank groans and leans back in his chair, causing the backrest to squeak under his weight. He hasn’t checked his university email in three days, which means that Mike has been waiting for the notes for at least two days. They’ve got a midterm next week.

Fucking fuck. Now it’ll look like he’s a douchebag.

He types out a quick email and double checks the address before hitting send. This time he forgets to attach the file.

“Fuck’s sake,” Frank mutters and sends yet another email to Mike, feeling marginally stupid. Fuck this email business.

Frank’s about to log out when a new email from Mikey Way pops up on screen.

_From: waymik@rutgers.edu  
To: ierofr@rutgers.edu_

_no worries  
happens. hope it was a good gig._

Frank hits ‘reply’ without even thinking about it.

_From: ierofr@rutgers.edu  
To: waymik@rutgers.edu_

_Birds of Steel. Awesome show. Great crowd. You into music?_

_-Frank_

Frank stares at the screen for a few seconds longer before he closes the browser window. He’s not going to sit here and wait for a reply from a stranger.

~

Frank has started to check his university emails twice a day. Not for any particular reason or anything, but with all the upcoming midterms something important might come in.

Besides, next to checking Facebook and Twitter, checking your emails is a convenient way of procrastinating. Romanticism is not Frank’s favorite period of English Literature, and if he has to look for the deeper meaning in the meter of yet another poem he’s going to bash his head against a wall.

In between all kinds of uninteresting university newsletters there is an email from Mikey Way.

Frank drums his fingers against the tabletop, thinking that now would be the perfect time for coffee and a cigarette, but Ryan, his roommate, would bitch him out if he smoked in the room. The kid looks harmless, but he’s vicious once he gets going. Not to mention annoying. Frank prefers avoiding that kind of stress.

He clicks on the email and takes a sip of Monster instead.

_From: waymik@rutgers.edu  
To: ierofr@rutgers.edu_

_cool i was at that show too. i liked the band. didn’t think anyone else knew them! landsharks are playing city gardens next week, you going?_

Frank blinks at the screen, then firmly tells his brain that no, this is not Mikey asking him out on a date. Damn, he needs to get laid. His blue balls are doing crazy things to his brain.

Frank taps his foot against the floor and sucks his bottom lip in between his teeth, tongue pushing at his lip ring. Okay, maybe he is that desperate.

_From: ierofr@rutgers.edu  
To: waymik@rutgers.edu_

_Yep! None of my friends know Landshark. Fuckers don’t know what they’re missing. Clearly your tastes are superior. Which campus you on? We could carpool or something?_

_-Frank_

Frank hits send quickly after that, not giving his brain time to process what he wrote. Mikey will probably think he has no friends and is like those old people at the supermarket, telling the cashiers their life story while counting out change, desperate for human interaction. Which is so not true because Frank has friends, okay? He’s got tons of friends, he doesn’t need Mikey Way.

With a huff Frank closes his laptop, zips up his hoodie and grabs his pack of cigarettes. He’ll feel better after a smoke and a walk around campus. Then he can focus on studying for the rest of the night, devote all parts of his brain to the beauty of Romanticism, where emails didn’t exist.

~

Coleridge’s ‘Rime of the Ancient Mariner’ is pretty great (not just because of the Iron Maiden song), but the assigned essays are boring as fuck to read. Or maybe it’s Frank not being able to focus, eyes straying to his laptop every other minute. He’s itching to see if anything’s happened online. Which is stupid, usually he wouldn’t give a fuck. And it’s not like Frank cares about this Mikey dude, no. He’s only looking for distractions from the essay from hell.

“You going out tonight?” Frank swivels around in his chair and looks at Ryan, who’s applying eyeliner with painful slowness, squinting at the tiny mirror over the sink.

“Hm?” Ryan blinks owlishly at his reflection and rubs at a smudge of khol in the corner of his eye before he looks at Frank. “Just meeting Brendon.”

“Ah. Right.” Frank tries really hard not to pull a face. Even Ryan Ross, the weird kid with a fetish for Dickensian fashion and bird face painting, gets laid.

Pushing his glasses back up his nose with his middle finger Frank watches as Ryan turns what started out as guyliner into panda eyes, eventually turning back to his laptop with a sigh. Frank’s got no willpower.

Opening up a new browser window Frank makes a conscious effort to stop his leg from jittering about. He had too much coffee today, that’s the reason why he’s all jittery. Not because there’s anticipation building in his stomach. Because that’s bullshit. Frank is never nervous. He’s the most fucking zen person this planet has ever seen.

There are no new emails in his in inbox. Frank swallows against the bitter taste of disappointment. He’s such an idiot. Maybe his mama was right and impatience isn’t a good thing after all. He doesn’t know Mikey Way, so why did he have to be so forward? They could’ve emailed back and forth a little more, talked about bands, then maybe decided to meet up at the gig. Nice and casual. But no, Frank had to act like a desperate puppy and scare Mikey off.

“Great, Iero. You’re so fucking smooth. No wonder nobody ever wants to date you.”

Frank gives up on studying in favor of feeling sorry for himself and messing around on his guitar. If Ryan’s going out there will at least be no one judging his taste in music, or wincing pointedly whenever he messes up a chord progression. As if Ryan’s playing is any better. Plus, he almost only plays the Beatles, which is fucking tedious after a while.

Plucking the strings one after the other Frank makes sure his guitar is in tune, then throws himself into playing ‘Bullying The Jukebox’, mentally giving Ryan the finger when he sees him rolling his eyes in the mirror.

~

Frank has gone back to not checking his university emails at all because it’s better for his sanity. If he doesn’t check his emails he’s not setting himself up for disappointment and all is well.

Until the day when one of his professors announces that he’s going to send them a worksheet, and Frank has to check his emails. Which is bullshit because checking his emails shouldn’t give Frank this churning feeling in his stomach, or the urge to slap his hands over his eyes when his inbox loads.

He’s probably coming down with something again. Frank takes his pulse, pressing two fingers to his galloping jugular. That has to be it. There is no other explanation for feeling like this. Getting a cold always gives Frank a queasy feeling, so there. All logically explained.

The only thing Frank can’t explain is the slight pull of excitement when in between newsletters and emails from professors there’s an email from Mikey Way.

_From: waymik@rutgers.edu  
To: ierofr@rutgers.edu_

_newark. you? family dinner before the show but my brother is giving me a lift after if you wanna join?_

Frank reads the email again before he allows a smile to spread on his face. Awesome, he didn’t scare Mikey Way off then. Motherfucking score. Of course there is always the possibility that Mikey Way is completely hideous in real life, or a serial killer, but he’s got good taste in music, so he can’t be a bad person, right? Right.

For a few seconds Frank’s fingers lie motionless on the keyboard before he mentally kicks himself and starts typing a reply.

_From: ierofr@rutgers.edu  
To: waymik@rutgers.edu_

_I’m on Camden campus. It’d be great to get a ride back though, if your brother doesn’t mind. I got some friends on Newark campus I can stay with, so he doesn’t have to drive all the way up here._

_It’s gonna be cool to have a gig buddy. See you Saturday then, I’ll wait outside for you? I’ll be the chain-smoking hobbit._

_-Frank_

“Awesome,” Frank scoffs once he’s sent the email, squeezing his eyes shut. He’s described himself as a chain-smoking hobbit. Way to sell himself. Why does his brain always go into douchebag mode when he tries to impress people?

Maybe Mikey is into chain-smoking hobbits. Or he is one himself.

Frank stares at his computer screen for a second before he decides that no, he doesn’t have any moral qualms at all and is going to do what every person in his situation would do: stalk Mikey Way on Facebook.

Ignoring the red symbol informing him of the 1038475890 new notifications he has (seriously, one of these days Frank is going to blow up Farmville and all its inhabitants) Frank searches for ‘Mikey Way’ and narrows his search down to New Jersey. It takes a few seconds for the search results to load and Frank tugs on his lipring, pushing the metal back and forth. It’s a habit he developed as soon as the piercing healed, and which still grosses his mother out hilariously much.

There is one Mike Way and two Mikey Ways. One of them is an approximately 50 year old, balding dude, and Frank’s 99% sure that this is not the Mikey Way he’s looking for. Then again this would be just the kind of thing to happen to Frank. Fucking irony of life.

Frank decides to take an optimistic approach and clicks on the profile of the other Mikey Way. According to his profile he is from Belleville, NJ and currently studies at Rutgers University. He’s also single.

Before he allows himself to throw his arms up in triumph Frank takes a deep breath and looks at the profile picture he’s determinedly ignored so far. The guy in it is looking blankly at the camera, eyes rimmed in eyeliner almost hidden behind his glasses. Only a few strands of brown hair stick out from under his beanie. It should look ridiculous, but he somehow manages to pull it off. He’s also wearing a Def Leppard shirt.

“Win.” Frank whispers under his breath and clicks on the photo link. If this is the Mikey Way he’s going to meet this weekend fortune has totally decided to make up for all the times Frank’s had terrible luck.

Mikey doesn’t have any other albums or pictures uploaded himself, but he is tagged in a lot of pictures. Frank guesses that’s natural if you’ve got 428 Facebook friends. Frank’s only got 107. The thought makes his gut churn. Not because he feels bad about having such a “small” circle of friends, but because the thought has just crossed his mind that Mikey has already done what Frank is doing now.

Cursing Frank clicks on the home button several times because stupid motherfucking Facebook doesn’t load quickly enough. There’s some really stupid shit in his profile and pictures Dewees uploaded that Frank never ever wants anyone to see. Especially not Mikey, who’ll get a completely wrong picture of Frank and all his chances are going to be ruined before they’ve even met.

Frank frantically scans his profile, shoulders dropping slightly when he remembers that he only filled out the barest minimum – a result of his total dislike of the Internet. His wall is mostly Jamia posting funny animal YouTube videos, invitations to gigs and talk about lecture notes.

His plan of removing all pictures he’s been tagged in that are unflattering is quickly sidetracked by Frank finding that all pictures he’s been tagged in are unflattering. If he removes them it’ll seem like he’s got no social life. The social policies of Facebook are difficult to navigate.

With a sigh Frank resigns himself to the fact that there aren’t any good pictures of him. He’ll have to charm Mikey in person.Satisfied that his Facebook page is as Mikey Way proof as it’ll ever get Frank returns to stalking Mikey’s page.

‘Gerard Way’ is listed as brother (definite score, even the brother who’ll drive them is here. This has to be the Mikey Way), but there is nothing on his Facebook page. No picture, barely any info and only a few likes of pages that all have to do with comics. With a shrug Frank clicks the back button.

Mikey uses the like button a lot more than actually commenting on the numerous posts on his wall, people inviting him to parties, asking him about shows, and then writing how brill and rad and legendary aforementioned shows and parties were.

It’s clear that Mikey is some kind of scene king and Frank suddenly feels really, really out of his depth, with a side serving of stupid. How could he have thought, even for a second, that he might have a chance with this guy?

~

Frank doesn’t check his emails again until Friday, trying to build a filter for all things Mikey into his brain. He doesn’t even know this guy, it’s ridiculous to get so worked up about what he might or might not be thinking about Frank.

Besides, it doesn’t matter. They can meet at the gig and Frank is getting a free ride back. It’s a win situation already. Frank only has to stop being an idiot.

“I have to stop being an idiot,” Frank says, peering up at Jamia and taking a drag from his cigarette.

“Agreed,” Jamia replies easily, running her fingers through Frank’s fringe and taking the cigarette from his hand. “Are we talking in general or in particular?”

Frank huffs and turns, pressing his face against Jamia’s stomach. She’s the best person to cuddle with. She’s always soft and warm, and she smells great. He doesn’t have a problem at all filling the clichéd role of the gay best friend if it means he gets a Jamia.

“I think I’m kind of crushing on a guy,” he mumbles against the material of her hoodie, pursing his lips when he ends up with dog hair on his lips. Jamia’s clothes are always full of dog hair, no matter how many lint rollers she uses. It makes Frank miss his dog back home.

“What’s it this time?” Jamia scratches the back of Frank’s head. “Straight? Married? Just not into you? About to be sent to prison?”

Frank grunts and pinches Jamia’s belly. “Neither. Well, maybe straight. Possibly not into me. I don’t know. I kind of met him online.”

Frank is rocked from his comfortable position when Jamia’s almost chokes on the smoke she inhaled. She leans forward, trapping Frank between her thighs and boobs as she folds over. He briefly thinks that any straight guy would be in heaven right now, before poking one of her tits and giggling.

“You met him online?” Jamia coughs and leans back, pressing the practically smoked down cigarette into Frank’s hand as she struggles for breath. “Did you finally sign up for one of those dating sites?”

“No.” Frank pouts and takes a final drag from the cigarette, then stubs it out in the ashtray on the table. “I sent an email to the wrong address and he replied and we are kind of meeting tomorrow at a gig.” It all comes out rushed, words melting together, and it takes Jamia a few seconds until she’s deciphered it.

“That’s. . . a very Frank thing to happen,” she finally says and Frank can tell that she’s trying very hard not to laugh. He can’t blame her.

“I know,” he groans and curls around Jamia’s middle. Things could be so easy if Jamia was a dude. Or maybe not, that would probably end up in a terribly complicated thing.

“And I kinda looked him up on Facebook and he’s really hot and has a million friends and is so, so out of my league. Why am I setting myself up for disappointment, J?”

“Because the universe hates you.” Jamia digs her thumb into Frank’s neck and he groans.

“The universe is a bitch.”

“Mother of all bitches.”

Frank nods and rubs his nose against Jamia’s hoodie. He never manages to make his laundry smell this good, even when he steals Jamia’s fabric softener.

“Just see how it goes and enjoy the gig,” Jamia suggest, reaching for the remote and turning on the TV.

“I’ll try,” Frank sighs. Shakespeare’s got nothing on the tragedy that is Frank’s life.

~

The ground around Frank is littered with cigarette butts, most of which are his. He arrived at the City Gardens stupidly early and has spent his time waiting, bouncing on the balls of his feet, smoking one cigarette right after the other, patting his hair down and messing it up again a second later.

Mikey only sent a quick email confirmation that he’d meet Frank outside and Jamia is so, so right. There is no point for Frank to overthink this. He’ll meet Mikey and have a great time at the gig and that’s it. Everything else is a bonus.

Frank’s practiced overthinking his entire life though, switching it off isn’t so easy. To make matters worse he’s smoked so much that he’s starting to feel nauseous. It doesn’t mix well with nerves.

Frank rolls his shoulders and exhales slowly and evenly, then inhales in the same manner. It helps to calm his stomach for approximately five seconds, before the queasy feeling is back.

“Fucking fuck.” Frank’s hand closes around the pack of cigarettes in the pocket of his hoodie, but he keeps himself from lighting another one. Puking is definitely on the list of things he doesn’t want to do in front of Mikey. Maybe a glass of water is going to help, but what kind of loser would Frank appear to be if they went inside and he ordered water? And WHY is he thinking about all of this? His brain needs to learn to shut.the.fuck.up.

“Hey. Frank, right?”

Frank chokes on his own spit. He was so engaged in his brain monologue that he missed Mikey approaching.

“Hi!” he manages to get out, swallowing more forcefully, hoping it is going to return his voice back to normal. “I mean, yes. Hi. I’m Frank.” Without thinking Frank holds his hand out and it only occurs to him that it’s probably a very uncool move when it takes Mikey a few seconds before he shakes it. The handshake, when it happens, is firm and Frank feels a stupid tingling in his fingers. Must be the cold.

“Hi Frank.” Mikey’s voice sounds pretty monotone and he snuffles a little before talking. Like in the picture most of his hair is hidden underneath a knit hat and he’s wrapped up in a coat and a scarf that he’s almost pulled up to his nose.

“Nice to meet you. Glad you, uh, found me,” Frank says and follows the statement with a giggle. Fuck, he sucks at this.

“I looked you up on Facebook.” Mikey shrugs, like Facebook stalkery is the most normal thing in the world.

“Oh. Uh. Sure.” Frank scratches the back of his neck, kicks the toes of his right shoe against the pavement, coughs. “Should we, like, go in?” Great, he’s been reduced to a species barely above a Neanderthal, incapable of forming eloquent sentences.

Mikey nods and turns to the entrance, completely ignores the queue and heads right for the bouncer. Frank feels like a clumsy, fat puppy tripping after him.

“Mikeyway!” The bouncer fistbumps Mikey and steps aside for him. “Good to see you, man.”

Mikey mumbles a reply that is mostly lost in his scarf, then leans back and takes Frank’s hand. He doesn’t even give Frank a warning or anything, which would have been really fucking nice and maybe prevented Frank’s heart from doing breakdance moves it was not cut out to do.

“He’s with me.”

Frank is sure, he’s so sure that the bouncer is not going to let him in, sending him to the back of the line, but he grins at Frank and waves them through. “You have yourselves a good night, guys. Take care.”

Mikey doesn’t let go off Frank’s hand until they’re at the cloakroom.

“You gonna keep your hoodie?” Mikey asks, systematically unwrapping his scarf and peeling his coat off.

“Yeah, not worth checking it.” Frank only wore a hoodie because he couldn’t be arsed to drag his jacket around.

“True,” Mikey shrugs and puts his things on the counter, waiting for the girl behind it to put them away and give him a number slip. “I get cold easily,” he adds, almost as an afterthought. Frank isn’t sure what he’s supposed to say to that. Even his broken brain-mouth filter won’t allow him to say ‘OMG could you be any cuter?’

“That. . . sucks,” is what Frank replies eventually. Mikey shrugs again, like it’s a hardship he resigned himself to a long time ago. He hands his hoodie to the cloakroom girl as well, revealing an Anthrax shirt. As if Frank needs more reasons to think Mikey is one of the coolest people on the planet.

“How was your family dinner?” Frank asks, trying to make conversation and find out more about Mikey without getting into his space and making an utter idiot out of himself.

“Okay.” Mikey rubs his nose and pushes his glasses back up his nose. “Eating something that isn’t take away or take away that’s been in the fridge for ages is pretty awesome.”

“So true,” Frank agrees with a heartfelt nod, following Mikey inside once he’s done unwrapping himself from all the extra layers. As soon as they’re inside there’s adrenaline running through Frank’s veins, like always before a gig. The crowd, the anticipation, the buzzing in the air. This is what Frank fucking lives for.

“Tonight’s gonna be good,” he says, turning to Mikey with a grin. The corners of Mikey’s lips twitch into a smile as he nods.  
“What do you wanna drink?” Frank asks, unzipping his hoodie and bouncing on the balls of his feet. He’s got too much energy, is too excited because of the band and because he’s here with Mikey and he totally needs a drink. And a moshpit.

“Beer’s fine.” Mikey makes for the bar but Frank stops him.

“My treat. Be right back.” He turns without waiting for Mikey’s reply and skips over to the bar, pulling a crumpled twenty from his jeans pocket. Maybe it’s a little forward to be buying Mikey a drink, but what the fuck ever. Frank is a gentleman.

The queue at the bar isn’t too long but it still seems to take ages until Frank’s up at the counter, ordering two bottles of Heineken. He’s anxious to get back to Mikey, because every second spent away is a second in which Mikey is potentially going to meet someone better than Frank and run off with him. Or her.

Clutching a bottle in each hand (the condensation from them covering up how sweaty his palms are) Frank almost expects to find Mikey gone, but he’s still standing right where Frank left him, texting on his phone.

“Hope this is okay, you didn’t say which you preferred.”

Mikey puts his phone away before taking the bottle with a small nod. “Heineken’s good. Thanks, Frank.”

Frank pulls his shoulders up in a ‘oh-sure-whatever-you-know’ shrug before raising his bottle.

“To a good night then.”

Mikey clinks the neck of his bottle against Frank’s. “To a good night.”

~

It’s a fucking amazing night. The band is awesome, the crowd is totally into it, Mikey pushes Frank in the direction of the moshpit when he sees how restless he’s getting and waits at the sidelines for him. He’s easy to talk to and Frank realizes that he had no reason to be nervous at all. Mikey Way is the greatest (and possibly weirdest) guy to ever walk the planet. Quite possibly the beer and the shots Mikey bought for them also played a part in easing Frank’s nervousness.

After the gig Frank is sweaty, bruised and ecstatic.

“That was amazing!” He gasps, pushing through the crowd and falling into Mikey, who laughs and wraps an arm around Frank’s shoulder, propping him up.

“It was. And you didn’t get yourself killed in the pit.” Mikey pats Frank’s shoulder.

“Course I didn’t. I’m the master of the pit,” Frank giggles, leaning his head against Mikey’s shoulder. He’s so out of breath and full of post-gig adrenaline that he doesn’t even think about it. Which is great. No overthinking this. Or noticing that Mikey smells really nice.

Frank draws in a shaky breath and pulls back, pushing his sweaty fringe away from his forehead. For a few seconds he stares at Mikey, feeling his cheeks flush even more, before Mikey breaks eye contact.

“Gee’s prolly waiting outside already.”

“Oh. Sure. Let’s go then.” Frank tries very hard not to feel disappointed that their night is coming to an end already.

Frank pulls his hoodie back on while he waits for Mikey to get his things and wrap up.

The cold air outside is like a slap to the face and Frank shivers, pulling his hood up over his head. The combination of drying sweat and November air is as good as a guarantee that he’s going to get a cold.

“Over there.” Mikey tugs on the sleeve of Frank’s hoodie, walking up to a beat up Volvo. He slides into the passenger seat and Frank gets into the back, closing the door hastily to escape the cold. It’s warm inside the car and it smells like an ashtray. Clouds of smoke are drifting through the air and the floor is littered with empty boxes, cups and bottles. In one word, the car is really gross.

“Hey Gee, that’s Frank.”

At Mikey’s words Frank remembers his manners and leans forward.

“Hey man, nice to meet you.”

Mikey and his brother don’t look a lot alike. Gerard is somehow paler, with messy black hair tangled around his head. His smile seems to come easier than Mikey’s and he twists awkwardly in his seat to wave at Frank.

“Hi Frank.”

“Thanks for giving me a lift.” Tipsy or not, Frank’s mama taught him manners.

Gerard flaps his hand around in a dismissive manner and starts the car. “’s no problem.”

He doesn’t say anything after that, so Frank assumes he hasn’t lucked out and is getting a ride to Camden campus. He hasn’t actually asked any of his friends living at Newark if he can stay the night, but he’ll work something out.

“I got vodka, that okay for you, Frank?” Mikey asks, stretched out in his seat.

“I. . . uhm. . . yes?” Frank scratches the back of his neck. This doesn’t quite make sense yet.

“Cool. My roommate is staying with his girlfriend.”

“Awesome.” Gerard comments and Frank goes with it and nods. It seems like his night is only going to get better.

~

Half a bottle of vodka later Gerard is asleep between random pieces of clothing strewn around the floor and Mikey is a sleepy weight against Frank’s shoulder. The room is rocking a little. Maybe the bed isn’t actually a bed but a boat and they’re out somewhere on the ocean, rocked by waves. Frank giggles and closes his eyes. Lying down seems like a really good idea right now.

When he does Mikey lies down with him like a bag of bricks, half-sprawled over Frank. He’s got his eyes closed, eyeliner smeared all around them, and his lips are really, really shiny. Frank wants to taste them.

“Hey. Hey Mikey.” He pokes Mikey’s side, blinking slowly against his own, heavy eyelids.

“Hm?” Mikey’s fingers curl into Frank’s shirt.

“I’m glad I’m too stupid to write email addresses.” Frank is losing the battle against his tongue at the moment. Stupid thing isn’t moving the way he wants. Isn’t the tongue a muscle? Because Frank is talking a lot, so it should be well-exercised.

“Wha’?” Mikey frowns and noses at Frank’s shirt. It’s all kinds of adorable and Frank feels all fluffy and warm inside.

“’m glad I can’t write email addresses,” he repeats, running a hand through Mikey’s hair. Or attempting to, because his fingers get stuck in the hairspray sticky strands. “So that I sent you an email instead of Mike.” He clarifies when Mikey doesn’t react.

“Oh!” The confusion clears from Mikey’s face and he uncurls his fingers, pressing his warm palm against Frank’s side. “Me too.”

“I woulda never met you otherwise,” Frank rambles, tugging at a tangle in Mikey’s hair. “And you’re a really good person to know.”  
Mikey hums again.

“I really like you, Mikeyway,” Frank mumbles and wow, now he really hates his tongue. The treacherous thing has unstuck itself from the top of his roof and is way too loose now.

Mikey’s only reply is a soft snore.

Frank closes his eyes and groans. What is his fucking life?

~

With the aid of vodka falling asleep without thinking much was easier than Frank thought because the next time he wakes up a glance at the clock on Mikey’s nightstand tells him it’s six in the morning. Frank closes his eyes again with a sigh. His mouth tastes foul and his eyes hurt. He should’ve remembered to take out his contacts.

Gerard is snoring softly on the floor and Mikey is a dead weight against Frank’s side. His head is resting right above Frank’s shoulder and every exhale sends a puff of hot air against Frank’s neck, making him shiver. Damnit, he’s so, so screwed.

Frank tries to inhale and exhale evenly because his dick is taking way too much interest in the situation, but it only serves in syncing his breathing with Mikey’s, making him hyper-aware of every exhale.

Mikey snuffles and curls closer. Frank gulps.

“Fuck,” he gasps, squeezing his eyes shut tighter. Mikey’s fingers move against Frank’s side as he dreams and this is all too fucking much. He squirms and swallows against the claustrophobic feeling that’s chocking him.

“Frank?” Mikey’s voice is raw with sleep and goes straight to Frank’s crotch, making him wince.

“Sorry,” he whispers, lying stock-still and praying for some kind of miracle.

“You gonna be sick?” Mikey asks. Instead of shifting away he shifts closer, plastering himself across Frank’s side.

“No. ‘m fine. Go back to sleep.”

“Hm.” Mikey tangles one leg with Frank’s, then stops moving. Shit.

“Oh.” His hand moves down over Frank’s chest and belly to his crotch, and Frank is fairly certain that his brain shuts down completely when Mikey cups his dick through his jeans.

“’m too tired. Too drunk,” Mikey mumbles, lips brushing against Frank’s neck and making him shiver. He pats Frank’s crotch twice before wrapping his arm around Frank’s middle again. “Tomorrow, yeah?”

Frank doesn’t waste his energy on a reply; Mikey is snoring again thirty seconds later, leaving Frank wide-awake in the dark.

“Cool,” Frank mumbles eventually. Mikey has an unnerving habit of leaving him speechless. His mama would tell Frank to marry this miracle worker immediately.

Frank worries his bottom lip between his teeth. His brain is soaked with alcohol, but the section full of morals and manners is still working, telling him repeatedly that ‘no Frankie, it’s not okay to jerk off now.’

Fuck manners and morals.

Closing his eyes again Frank tries to relax and give into the pull of sleep. Bless the powers of vodka.

~

Curse the powers of vodka. The next time Frank drifts back into consciousness his hangover hits him like a sledgehammer. He lies there and focuses on breathing until the nausea in his stomach eases a little and it feels safe to open his eyes.

It sounds like there’s a beached whale on the floor of Mikey’s room, but when Frank peers over the edge of the bed there’s only Gerard, curled into a ball.

“Dude,” Frank rasps, squinting, “You okay?”

Gerard makes another whale sound and waves a hand in Frank’s general direction.

“I think your brother is dying,” Frank says. Mikey doesn’t even stir. He’s drooling in his sleep and there’s a wet patch on Frank’s t-shirt. It should be really fucking gross but somehow Frank doesn’t mind.

He knows the sensible thing would be to get up, drink a gallon of water and swallow some painkillers, but this is not the weekend to do sensible things. Instead he turns a little more into Mikey and closes his eyes with a sigh.

For a while Frank dozes and it helps to settle his stomach and mute his headache at least a little. Mikey is warm against him and for a few seconds Frank feels utterly and completely content. Maybe things are going to work out in his favor after all.

The universe has just been waiting for Frank to let his guard down because two seconds later the door flies open and there is so much noise Frank thinks he’s going to hurl.

“Mikeyway!”

Baby elephants are stomping around the room and Gerard sounds like he’s sobbing now.

Mikey stirs and lifts his head from Frank’s chest. “Pete?” His voice is wrecked, but despite his hammering headache Frank wants him to keep talking.

“Who’s the innocent maiden you’ve dragged back to your lair?” Pete asks.

Frank has no fucking clue what is going on and that’s something he doesn’t deal with well, so he peels his eyes open and squints in the direction of the loud, so loud, too loud voice. There’s a guy standing in the middle of the room, grinning at them like the Cheshire cat.

“ShutupPete,” Mikey mumbles and drops his head back down. Frank can only guess that Pete is Mikey’s roommate. And that’s his morning ruined. Nothing is gonna happen between Mikey and him with a hyperactive baby elephant and a dying whale in the room.

Gerard groans again and it’s a truly pitiful sound.

“Oh man, Geeway.” Pete drops down on his knees next to the bundle of Gerard on the floor and pokes at him. “I’ll get you some painkillers, dude, okay? Go and lie down on my bed.” The incredible loudness in no way prepares Frank for Pete’s apparent kindness.

“Me too?” Frank manages to say. His mouth tastes foul.

“Sure, princess.”

Frank doesn’t even have the energy to react to that.

Pete brings them all water and painkillers and it earns him enough plus points that he can call Frank ‘princess’ whenever he wants.

Mikey sits up enough to swallow to aspirin and down some water before he collapses back on the bed and curls up with a groan. Pete drags Gerard over to the other bed and makes sure he isn’t going to fall off before he turns back to Frank.

“You gonna stay here? They’ll be out all day.”

Frank bites his bottom lip and looks down at Mikey. He wants to stay, but he doesn’t know if he’s welcome. Or if there’s any point to it. He’ll have to go back to his own place eventually. There are lectures he has to attend tomorrow and he really wants to jerk off and then tell his brain to shut the fuck up and stop developing a crush on Mikey.

“I. . . guess I’ll get going.” Frank sits up slowly and gives his body a few seconds to adjust to being upright before he gets to his feet and looks around for his shoes. Putting them on is terribly frustrating and in the end Frank gives up on the laces and stuffs them under the tongue.

“Where you living?” Pete asks, watching Frank’s struggle with a barely suppressed grin.

“Camden campus.”

“Shit man. It’s Sunday, the bus is gonna be ages. Want me to drive you?”

Frank looks up to see if Pete is taking the piss. “You serious? That’d be. . . that’d be great.”

“Sure,” Pete shrugs and pushes away from the desk he was leaning against, walking towards the door. “Buy me some coffee and we’ve got a deal.”

Frank would buy Pete all the coffee in the world if it meant not having to take the bus.

“Deal. Let’s go.” Halfway to the door Frank turns, unsure of himself. Mikey seems to still be fast asleep. “Uh. Bye?” He waves his hand awkwardly, then stuffs it into the pocket of his hoodie when he realizes how stupid that is.

“I’ll let him know.” Pete pats Frank’s back before pushing him out the door with a thousand, Frank blinks, no a ten thousand watt grin.

~

Frank spends the rest of Sunday curled up in bed, feeling sorry for himself and texting Jamia.

_don’t worry, he’ll write_

Frank rolls his eyes and types out a reply with a little more force than necessary.

_no idea what you’re talking about._

Seriously, Jamia’s totally on the wrong track. Frank isn’t sad over a guy he barley knows, that’d be ridiculous. He’s just really hungover and deserves sympathy. But Jamia doesn’t get that. Frank puts his phone down next to him on the mattress with a huff.

“Frank? You okay?”

Frank groans and pulls his shoulders up in a shrug, back turned to Ryan. His phone has been beeping non-stop with text messages from his boyfriend. It’s mocking Frank, just like the rest of the universe.

“Kay. There’s aspirin in the bathroom. Let me know if you’re gonna die,” Ryan says. There’s a slight edge of concern in Ryan’s monotone. Frank’ll show his appreciation tomorrow and buy Ryan a cup of the fancy tea he likes so much.

~

Monday morning isn’t much better. It sucks by default because it is Monday morning, and in addition Frank is feeling moody and depressed. He’ll try and forget Mikey and everything is going to be all right in a few days. All Frank needs is some time to get over it and things are going to go back to normal. If Jamia isn’t working tonight they could have a zombie marathon at her place. Nothing like gore to cure heartache.

Frank texts her, stares forlornly at the display of his phone for a few seconds and eventually opens his laptop. He might as well work on the essay due in two weeks while he’s moping.

Working on something university related causes all of Frank’s procrastination instincts to kick in and he’s logging onto Facebook five minutes later. As always he ignores his new notifications, but he’s also got a new friend request.

“Huh?” Frank clicks on the red icon and waits for the page to load. The internet on campus is damn slow and Frank rolls his shoulders, sighing. He’s got bruises all over his body from the moshpit on Saturday and he still feels sore in a good kind of way. He should focus on the good parts of Saturday.

Frank reaches for his bottle of coke and takes a sip, chocking on it a second later.

_Mikey Way wants to be your friend. Confirm. Ignore._

So much for forgetting all about Mikey fucking Way.

~

Frank has ignored the Internet for two days, ever since he clicked the “confirm” button. It’s all good because why should he go online anyway? He’s got friends in real life, he doesn’t need Facebook.

Frank is also bored out of his mind. There is nothing to do and he’s too lazy to study. Dewees is out somewhere and meeting up with him would require Frank to get dressed and get out of bed, so it’s not an option either. Jamia is at work and even though it would mean free food at the diner, because Jamia is amazing like that, it is also not an option. Frank sighs. His life, so hard.

When his mobile beeps with a new message Frank turns his head and looks at his jeans abandoned on the floor, considering if it is even worth getting up. He ends up half hanging out of bed, grabbing the leg of his jeans and pulling them close until he can get his mobile out of the pocket.

Once he’s curled back up in bed Frank opens the text from Jamia.

_dude. check your facebook. now_

Before Frank gets a chance to reply another text comes in.

_and don’t be an idiot about it_

It’s enough to make Frank scramble out of bed, getting tangled in the blanket and nearly falling on his face.

“Fuck.” Frank kicks the blanket away and makes it to his desk without harming himself further. Jamia wouldn’t text him if it wasn’t important and while his computer boots Frank’s brain is running through all possible scenarios. Did Dewees undress him while he was passed out drunk, take pictures and put them up on Facebook? Or maybe his mama has discovered technology and is running amok on his wall, calling him ‘Frankiebear’ in public. Fuck. Frank is going to die of mortification.

Facebook is loading even slower than usual, giving Frank a few extra seconds to panic.

Everything seems normal when the page finally loads; he’s got no new messages of friends laughing at him and his timeline hasn’t exploded with mocking comments either. When Frank clicks on his wall there is only one new post.

_Mikey Way_

_hi. wanna do something friday?_

Frank stares at the post and briefly considers taking a screenshot and putting it up on his wall. Mikey actually wants to see him again. Frank wins at life. Before he gets a chance to reply a new chat window pops up in the right corner of his screen.

_Mikey Way: hi_

_Frank Iero: Hey. Was just about to reply to you_

Chatting with Mikey is like talking to Mikey: just a little bit weird. Two minutes later there is still no reply, so Frank assumes that Mikey is waiting for him to continue.

_Frank Iero: I got nothing planned for Friday. Is there a gig?_

This time a reply comes after a few seconds.

_Mikey Way: not that i know. just thought we could go out_

Frank reads the sentence over and over again and reaches for his phone to call Jamia. It would take him too long to reply then though and Mikey might think he’s not interested.

“C’mon Iero, have some fucking balls,” Frank mumbles, squares his shoulders and starts to type.

_Frank Iero: sure._

_Frank Iero: is this you asking me out? ;)_

Jamia always says that Frank only uses smileys when he tries to cover something up. In this instance it might be true. If he were facing Mikey right now Frank would laugh awkwardly. If it all turned out to be a joke then he could go along with it, all ‘ha sure dude, I knew that, duh!’

_Mikey Way: yep_

Frank squints, but there isn’t more. Only a patent one-word Mikey Way reply. A really good one. At least Frank hopes so. He waits for a minute and when no ‘HAHA just kidding!’ appears on screen he allows himself to throw his arms up in triumph. “Motherfucking yay!”

Mikey Way is going out with him. Frank’s the ruler of the universe.

_Frank Iero: cool_

Right, he could’ve come up with a more eloquent reply, but typing ‘DKHIGIWEEIODKKLGHAOGKDDHKJEBON9IVGHJKLGAL AWESOME’ would be uncool.

_Mikey Way: g is giving me his car, ill pick you up. heres my number_

Frank scrambles for his phone and saves Mikey’s number. With his luck Facebook is going to crash or the Internet is going to implode and he won't be able to contact Mikey and everything would be a tragedy again.

_Frank Iero: Awesome_

_Mikey Way: you didnt have to leave on sun. sorry i wasnt awake_

_Frank Iero: It’s okay. I had stuff to do for uni anyway and Pete offered me a ride_

_Mikey Way: cool. you can stay over this we if you want petes going home_

Frank’s mouth drops open. Okay. Maybe he is reading too much into this, but that’s kind of a really, really open invitation.

_Frank Iero: cool_

_Mikey Way: k great. gotta go now. lecture. text me your number_

_Frank Iero: will do ☺_

_Mikey Way is offline_

Frank’s lips refuse to return back to normal and he’s still grinning like a lunatic when he sends a quick text to Mikey. Maybe it’s overly eager and he should’ve waited five minutes, but Frank doesn’t care. All those dating guidelines never worked out for him and Mikey is the most unusual guy he’s ever met. Frank doesn’t think Mikey gives a shit about dating guidelines.

As soon as the text is sent he calls Jamia.

~

On Friday Mikey picks Frank up on campus and drives them to some place Frank has never heard of. Not that Frank cares. His cheeks are aching from constantly smiling and Mikey is humming along to a song on the radio and everything is awesome. Except for Mikey’s parking skills. He almost crashes into another car and Frank barely resists the urge to slap a hand over his eyes. In the end the car is parked accident free though and Mikey reaches for Frank’s hand as they walk down the street.

All week Frank has been fretting if this really is a date, going as far as to show the chat transcript to Jamia, who’d rolled her eyes and slapped the back of Frank’s head. Frank just never gets this lucky, okay? And it’s a little difficult for him to wrap his head around this.

“My friend Ray, he’s in a band. They’re playing here tonight. I hope that’s okay?” Mikey asks, stopping in front of a bar.

“Yeah, sure,” Frank nods, squeezing Mikey’s hand slightly. Mikey could take him to a Klingon language class and Frank wouldn’t care.

“Awesome.” Mikey’s lips are hiding by his scarf, but the corners of his eyes crinkle a little. They look at each other for a few seconds and Frank is about to push up on his tiptoes when the door of the bar opens, light and noise spilling out onto the street.

Mikey hesitates for a second, then turns and steps inside, pulling Frank along. It doesn’t look like this is going to be a big gig, the atmosphere still relaxed, people sitting at tables, some standing in front of the stage where the band is setting up. It’s absolutely perfect.

“Beer?” Mikey asks, taking off his hat and scarf and unbuttoning his coat.

“Yeah, sounds good.” Frank unzips his hoodie and follows Mikey to the bar, not sure if he should get them a table.

Mikey seems to know the bartender because he hands over his coat and scarf and the guy stores it under the counter before getting them two beers, handing them over with a grin and a wink. It’s nothing special, but enough to bring Frank down to reality and remind him that Mikey is popular and could have anyone he wants. It’s a bit of a downer to his excitement, but Frank fights to push down on it. It doesn’t have to mean anything and maybe Mikey really likes him. Jamia pointed out that otherwise he wouldn’t have made the effort. Jamia is usually right.

“Here,” Mikey holds one of the bottles out to Frank with a small smile. The hair on the back of head is standing up weirdly and Frank’s fingers itch to smooth it down.

“Thanks.” He takes a sip from the beer, then nervously picks at the label. He wants to say something witty but his brain is blanking completely.

“So. Uh. You had a good week?” Frank wants to smash the bottle of beer against his head. He’s a failboat.

“It was okay. Boring,” Mikey shrugs. Then he lights up. “Oh hey, they’re showing Star Wars in 3D next week, wanna go see it?”

Which. Wow. Is Mikey asking him out on a second date before the first has even properly started?

“Sounds great.”

“Yeah, I mean it’s Episode One,” Mikey and Frank both pull a face, “but in 3D!”

“Fucking awesome,” Frank grins and sips his beer, some of the tension draining out of his shoulders. They discuss Star Wars and their favorite scenes for a while until the band starts. Mikey points out the guitarist with the epic hair, saying “That’s Ray,” like Frank is going to know who Ray is. His playing is pretty epic though so Frank bobs his head and nods.

The band is good and after their set Frank feels relaxed and slightly fuzzy from the bottle of beer in his hand that seems to magically get swapped for a full one whenever it is empty.

“They were great!” Frank yells over the noise in the bar and Mikey grins at him, wide and happy. Frank’s knees feel a little weak.

“Mikey!” A tall guy hugs Mikey from behind and almost lifts him off his feet. He also presses a loud kiss to Mikey’s cheek, sending instant impulses of ‘must hate must hate must hate’ through Frank.

“Hi Gabe.” Mikey doesn’t seem phased at all and takes another sip of beer, stepping out of Gabe’s grip.

“How you doin’? Haven’t seen you around for ages!” Gabe keeps crowding into Mikey’s space and Frank’s hand tightens around his bottle. Fuck. He should’ve known that things would end like this. He was good enough up until now, but someone better has shown up.

“I’m good,” Mikey says, eyes darting over to Frank.

“Great. Hey, you wanna. . . go dance?” Gabe waggles his eyebrows and puts his hand on Mikey’s hip. Frank sighs and steels himself to say goodbye. He’s going to be cool about this.

“No. I’m here with Frank.”

Frank splutters and almost spits beer on the floor.

“What? Oh.” Gabe looks over at Frank and grins, but doesn’t take his hands off Mikey. “C’mon, Mikeyway. You know we’re good together. I’m sure Frankie won’t mind if I borrow you for a little,” Gabe wiggles his hips in a way that makes Frank’s heart sink.

“Maybe not,” Mikey says, sounding sort of annoyed, a line creasing his brow. He pushes Gabe away and steps closer to Frank, taking his hand and lacing their fingers together. “But I’d mind.”

“Well done you, Mikeyway. Have a good night.” He waves and disappears into the crowd. Frank looks after him, eyebrow raised. Gabe seemed like an asshole, but then when Mikey repeated that he was here with Frank he seemed. . . happy for them?

“Strange,” Frank says, turning to Mikey who shrugs. “Gabe,” he replies, like it’s an explanation. Maybe it is, who knows. Frank prefers to focus on the important things. Like Mikey holding his hand. And Mikey refusing someone else because he’s here with Frank.

“What’re you grinning at?” Mikey asks, brows narrowed. He looks so honestly confused and adorable that Frank can’t help it. He fumbles to put his beer down on a nearby table before pushing up, framing Mikey’s face with his hands and kissing him, everything else be damned. It only takes Mikey a second to kiss back.

Frank pushes closer to Mikey, giggling when Mikey wraps an arm around Frank’s waist but ends up spilling beer over both their shoes. Pulling back and looking down he seems so utterly confused by that happening too that Frank can’t help but peck his lips again. Then he takes the beer from Mikey’s fingers and puts it down on one of the tables.

“There, better,” Frank grins. Mikey rolls his eyes and pokes at Frank’s chest. “Whatever. Wanna go dance?”  
Frank doesn’t know how to dance, he only knows how to mosh. And tonight is not the night for moshing. Or, well, not that kind of moshing anyway.

“I. . . no, not really,” he shakes his head and looks down, pushing his tongue against his lipring as he tries to come up with something to say that doesn’t make him sound desperate.

“Okay,” Mikey takes Frank’s reply in a stride and reaches out to curl a finger through one of the belt loops of Frank’s jeans, pulling him close.

Looking up again Frank can’t help but grin at Mikey, leaning against him. “We could always make out a little more and then go back to yours?”

“Plan,” Mikey agrees with a grin.

Damn, Frank’s life is fucking amazing.


End file.
